Hurk

Listening to: James Marsters - Smile

On Monday, or rather in the late AM of Sunday, I woke up at 3 am, and threw up 13 times. Most of that in about a two or three hour period. Throughout which the left side of my skull kept promising (but never blissfully delivering) on venting my unbearably throbbing brain, and I had a fever that literally cooked my blood to blisters that continue to give a really interesting texture to my face.

I am Linda Blair.

I'm still having a highly querulous relationship with food, and drink, and most activities beyond thinking the equivalent of "Ick". I had kind of hoped, when I was moaning semi-deliriously in death throes that could be heard from miles in any direction, that if it wasn't kind enough to just PLEASE let me die, it would prolly be a 12-24 hr thing. Clearly, it's a much crueler bitch than that.

I see the government has fallen in my absence. Apparently, I am all that keeps Harper Raving Loon from ruling the world. How worrying.

Maybe I should go throw up on him. I always want to, but now, I'm all dreadful and contagious and such.

Drivels and Driven

Bust a gut laughing (Gravy was my arch nemesis for ten years) and then dive happily around your house looking for donations over at CrazyAuntPurl.

I'll update when I know more.

(UPDATE, Nov 30: No response to my email querying the addy for donations. Drat. Looks like I'm back to only donating local this year)

No, please, no....Google Must Not Fail Me

Google appears to be broken.

Suddenly, when I'm doing searches, it's sticking crap among the results that are the results new completely unrelated search suggestions. As usual, it's 'suggestions' are irritating and bizarre, but at least before it just did that foolishness under the search bar. Now I don't just have to sift out the spam, the protected forums, etc., I have to ignore Microsoft style 'we think--no, *know*--you're helpless hapless moron who will gratefully suck up our idiotic corportate spam garbage gladly as we, the stinky slimy dipwads of doom, insist we only do it as a generous sweetly helpful much requested favour to you' craptasticness.

Ugh.

Come on Firefox, make an extension. Thwart them. Save my life.

The Leaping Incident

Lost meet shark, shark meet...

Oh wait, you two already know each other. There was that jump thing last year, right? A few nimble misses, but then the resident evil chick. And wait, she's starring now?

No, no need to vote me off the island. I quit.

I tried to hold faith, but the last two eps were utterly unbearable crap writing, even on the dim standards of this season. I can't keep going unless I do a self-lobotomy a la knitting needle.

Man guys, way to tank.

One Red Paperclip

...for a house

Sound like a good trade to me.

No one said it had to be a good house. It could be Lego's latest duplex, the Money Pit, a hairball cocoon, the Amityville horror, or, Odds Above, a nice little bungalow trapped in the endless unfinished throes of disappearing contractors. Eeek!

Whoa...Let's Get Ready to Rumble

There is wind out there that is trying *very* hard to bend full grown trees
in half.

The last time this happened, I lost 6 trees. :/

*house shakes like the bed in the Exorcist*

Okay...Time to fill the bathtub.

The Not So Grand List

...of overused fantasy clichés.

And, for us game geeks, the Dictionary of RPG Clichés

Points to Ponder

Who convinced George Eads (Nick, CSI) to go with the 70s porn star stache? Or was he just sick and tired or being in any way considered attractive? They had this whole hopelessly trying to be dramatic who shot JR thing going, and every time his face popped up I was rolling choking giggling jelly fest. Discuss.

Is it sign of geezerhood #1,062 when delivery guys come by and they look young, so impossibly young that you want to ask them, "Why aren't you in school?". Or, much worse, the ol' "What grade are you in? *insert creepy ridiculously bright smile here*"? Provide a flow chart.

Is it also typical of Leon's to deliver in the drowning rain, after carefully removing all plastic from the furniture before leaving the warehouse, so that your couch set arrives sopping wet, to the point that, if you *could* ring it out, the run off would fill your living room like a fresh fishbowl? (When asked of management, the response--this was the entire explanation--was: "We don't like the trucks to get dusty.") Give examples.

Is it grotesquely unfair that it rained incessantly from April to November 17th, and then switched to blinding constant sunshine when the earth was at just the right angle for said sun to come screaming through my door and rip deep into my helpless eyeballs at my computer desk, leading to an instant migraine for the past three days? Show your work.

Greasy

Still me.

Still no sleep.

Have you ever laughed so hard that, not only were you crying and choking on your own spit, not only were aching from the knees up, not only were your cats were running in fear, not only could you not even *try* to explain to someone what was so funny because it only made you laugh hopelessly even *harder*, but they begin to seriously ask if you need medical attention?

You were prolly looking at this little fry.

ps. You don't need a support group to do this; you need a support group to *not* do this.

The Perils of Nervous Insomnia

Hard Love
by Marlo Dianne

Jilly finished packing. Ever since Jane, her own true love, had been lost at sea, Jilly had been tremulous.

There was nothing left for her anymore, nothing kissed her, all was sweet. So today, Valentine's Day, she was going in a nit to become a dangerous tree.

Just then, there was a mossy knock at the door. Jilly opened it and stood there coolly for a moment, before falling to the floor in a swoon and bruising her hair.

When Jilly came to, Jane was holding her ear and looking itchy. "My love," Jane said sadly, "I'm sorry for the cold shock. I've been shipwrecked on a smoking island for the last ten years, living as blisters in bleeding gums. I was only rescued last week." She paused. "I lost my lip in the wreck. Can you still love me?"

Jilly could hardly believe her Jane had returned. "I will always love you, lip or no lip. Besides, you can cover it up with a water."

They embraced entirely and vowed to never be parted again.

And all was shiny.

(Brought to you by the Drabble-Matic)

(ps. Technically, the drabble-matic is not so drabbley; this is way over 100 wrds. But it made me smirk anyway, so toast my biscuits.)

Yes, Virginia

...there will be an AHOP3

Siding up to This

There has been no response from contractors. Can't even get a dang quote of what the cost would be if they were ever willing to actually frickin' work at what they claim they are in the business of doing.

So, we will be stripping off our own siding, bleaching away the ick, ripping down and replacing Tyvek, etc. For which, we need to buy a special ladder, etc. But we can do it. We will do it.

Or we would, except the fookin' delivery guy wouldn't leave the mainland.

Really. It was a bit windy, you see, so when he got to the bridge, he just turned around and went home to Dartmouth instead.

Dick.

Maybe he'll bother to show up later, if the skies are clear and the moon is in a centuries-rare alignment where lying thieving half-assed 'professionals' actually pretend to do their dang jobs for a moment.

Aside: Can you stake someone with a slat of siding? I'll let you know.

It's Safer on the Pirate Seas, Arrrrrr...

In a brilliant move, Sony has decided to brutally rape its customers, and make it easy for others to do it too.

Because, of course, when you're paranoid that a few people might get your product for free, you absolutely want to convince everybody to never ever even consider paying for it. Flog 'em til they learn.

Oh, and when you're found out, and people are calling for your blood, and you're a mega-cooperation who can grind their bones under your stomping feet, just offer a solution that doesn't work.

That will fix 'em.

Acceptance

I have flu. Or possibly it's the stuff in my walls. But I am looking green.
Literally. Also intermittently dizzy, disconnected, throbby, achy, queasy,
exhausted, etc. But it's the green that can't be rationalised away.

So, blogging may be light, or it may take on surreal quality. But then I
may already be long lost in the dreamtime babble zone. Who can tell?

I'm going to go curl up in bed and imagine I'm a sock.

(Blogged by email. Please ignore formatting fubars)